Well, I missed a day for the first time back in 1988 and I return with an entry that is embarrassing in more ways than one:
Why do people read or watch movies or TV or whatever? More than ever, I’m convinced that it’s because we’re all looking for answers but we aren’t even sure of the questions. People will like best stories in which they identify with one or more of the characters—they hope they can apply some of what they read to their own life. Today, when I was downtown, I saw a very beautiful girl. I suppose I looked too much because she stayed back at one street and let me pass. A couple of blocks later I had stopped at a donut shop and as she passed she made a face at me when she saw me looking out. I thought about that a while then decided I’d try and catch up with her and see what happened. I guess she thought I was some sort of rapist or something cause she started yelling at me when she saw me, asking why I was following her. I told her I wasn’t and backed down by walking a slightly different direction than she was. Perhaps if I had been honest she might have changed her attitude (story idea). Perhaps not. This really should have been a separate paragraph.
Last night I had a dream that I was talking to Bernie’s dad and I mentioned that Bernie had said he was kicked out because of some reason I forget. Mr. Russell responded saying, “He’s a liar! He was kicked out because he’s a damn gambler!” Bernie was present and looked a little uoset at the revelation. I think at this point I said something kind of profound such as, “Somebody’s lying here, but I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter.” I think this might be a useful form of revisionism for a story philosophy. Truth is subservient to tranquility.
Oh man, was I an idiot at the age of 19. Not just because of the banal (and, to my current mind wrongheaded) meditation on the meaning of literature/film/television, but because I was so stupid about interacting with women I didn’t know. The obvious thing to do was not to try to catch up with her, but to let her go her way and forget her existence. At some point I later read something in an advice column in Playboy, of all places, that talked about when you were walking and there was a woman walking on her own, you should do things like cross to the other side of the street to avoid the appearance of being some sort of stalker/creep (and maybe go somewhere else if it’s at all feasible). I blame all those movies that showed meet cutes between total strangers on the street which are impossible in the real world, not to mention things that approach harrassment if not actually embrace it wholeheartedly.
Not a lot of depth in that final paragraph either. I should note that Bernie was my best friend from high school who, when he turned eighteen, moved out of his parents’ house (or possibly was kicked out—I don’t remember the details anymore and, sadly, Bernie died a few years ago) so spent his senior year of high school essentially supporting himself.
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